Alone
by frumi0us
Summary: While Billy Batson is struggling to balance his regular life, his existence as Captain Marvel and his fairly new membership in the JLA, Fawcett City becomes the scene of a string of horrible crimes - the rape and murder of homeless children. Billy whump.
1. Prologue

**Title:** Alone

**Rating: **this chapter K, overall M

**Warning:** Violence, disturbing themes, gore (in future chapters), WIP

**Summary:** While Billy Batson is struggling to balance his regular life, his existence as Captain Marvel and his fairly new membership in the JLA, Fawcett City becomes the scene of a string of horrible crimes - the rape and murder of homeless children.

**Notes: **Takes place before "Misplaced", will focus more on the JLA than the YJ team.

* * *

Billy was ripped from his dreams by the shrill beeping of his alarm clock. Blindly, he reached out and brought his hand down hard on the wooden surface of his bedside table. Ouch. On his second, equally uncoordinated, attempt to find the snooze button without having to open his eyes his palm did brush the actual clock, but sent it toppling onto the floor. A carpet-softened thud, then heavenly silence.

Billy sighed, already drifting off again.

Just five more minutes.

* * *

"Billy?"

Captain Marvel hesitated mid-punch, momentarily confused. In front of him, Doctor Sivana sprouted purple wings and flew off into the sunset.

That had been Uncle Dudley's voice, hadn't it?

"Billy, are you still asleep? You'll be late for school!"

School! It was like a magic word in and of itself – but not the good kind. As if he'd been struck by lightning, Billy shot up in bed, eyes open, wide awake in an instant. He jumped out, onto his bare feet, and picked up the alarm clock.

7: 50, the display said in big, glowing, green, merciless numbers.

Holy moley, he'd overslept!

First period would start in ten minutes and Billy wasn't even dressed. He made a run for his closet, ripping the door open and grabbing the first shirt and pants he could find. Captain Marvel would have been able to get ready for school in less than five seconds, but what'd be the point in Cap putting on Billy's clothes?

This was something he had to accomplish without the Speed of Mercury.

* * *

Billy was just about out the door when Uncle Dudley stopped him by gently grasping his shoulder.

"Hold on, sport, don't forget your lunch," he said, handing Billy a brown paper bag and ruffling his hair, and although this was pretty much a daily event for them by now, Billy still felt a surge of warmth rise inside his chest at the simple gesture. It never failed to make him genuinely happy.

"Thanks, Uncle Dudley!"

Clutching his lunch, backpack slung over one shoulder, Billy Batson stepped out into the cloudy morning.

* * *

It was drizzling softly when Captain Marvel landed in a narrow alley behind Fawcett Elementary. After a quick look to make sure that he was indeed alone and out of sight, he said the word. Out of the cloud of white smoke, Billy Batson emerged, glanced at his wristwatch and grimaced.

Nope, the Speed of Mercury had not saved him this time.

It was ten past eight, which meant that class had started without him.

He'd be late either way, but still Billy ran, because strolling to school leisurely would just feel wrong under the circumstances and, who knew, maybe Mr Winters would actually give him credit for turning up only ten minutes late instead of fifteen.

Or so he'd thought until he promptly slipped on the wet stone steps that lead up to the school's main entrance. He went down hard on one knee, thankfully not tearing his worn blue jeans, but getting mud all over them. It hurt something awful, too.

Half limping, half running, Billy made his way through the school's tiled hallways, the voices of teachers and students drifting to him from behind the closed doors of the classrooms he passed.

In front of his destination, Billy stopped, unsure. He hated this.

From where Billy stood, his back pressed against the cold wall next to the door, he could already hear Mr Winters' enthusiastic elucidations about what he liked to call "the magic of math".

Mr Winters wasn't especially strict or terrifying – in fact, he was a youngish man - brown hair without even a hint of grey in it – who, when he wasn't getting all excited about numbers, spoke in a gentle voice and was prone to making the kind of jokes that were a little too silly to actually be funny but that Billy laughed at anyway, because he didn't want to disappoint Mr Winters, who probably put a lot of effort into thinking them up.

Still, Billy's heart was pounding in his chest, a steady _thump, thump_ against his ribcage and his throat felt dry, which was pretty darn pathetic if you thought about what kind of things Captain Marvel faced on a daily basis.

Very carefully, he opened the door a tiny crack and peeked through.

Mr Winters had his back to the class and was writing something on the blackboard, his right hand attacking the board in short energetic jabs.

Billy swallowed. His empty seat was all the way in the back of the classroom, almost against the wall. The distance seemed insurmountable. But maybe…

He'd have to try; this was his only chance.

Billy slipped into the room without making a sound. Exposed to and dependent on his classmates, he shot them pleading looks while he tiptoed through the rows. Like a blind man, Billy was reaching forward with one hand, reaching for his desk. Just a few more steps. He'd make it!

Except that, as soon as the thought had crossed his mind, his foot caught on something and he tripped. Billy couldn't suppress the undignified squawk of surprise as he fell, his fingertips brushed the edge of his desk.

He fell flat on his face, much to the amusement of his classmates who erupted into giggles almost in unison. Billy let the sound of their voices wash over him while he contemplated the polished floor and endured the heat burning in his cheeks.

Well, Cap wasn't exactly known for gracefulness, either.

"Watcha doin' down there, dork? Looking for your brains?"

Even without looking up, Billy could practically see Frankie Smith's crooked-toothed grin. Frankie was a bully, tall for his age and strong enough to pick on anyone, even six graders, or so Billy'd had heard anyway.

"Pff, he'd need a microscope for that!"

Yeah, and there was his mindless posse, ready to chime in with more insults. Billy didn't care. They were just a bunch of stupid kids who were feeling insecure enough to latch onto a bully because they were terrified of becoming Frankie's next targets themselves.

Silently, he thanked the Wisdom of Solomon for making him better than that.

Billy ignored them. He had bigger problems.

"Gentlemen, please." Mr Winters' voice was uncharacteristically sharp. The tips of his scuffed shoes entered Billy's field of vision. "Are you hurt, Bill?"

"It's nothing." Somewhat reluctantly, Billy took the hand that was offered to him. "Thanks, Mr Winters."

"Just so you know, Bill, we _will_ have to talk about this after class."

Billy sighed softly.

He really shouldn't have dared to hope he'd get off scot-free.

"Yes, Sir."

"But for now, how about you sit down. We still have to talk about the rest of the homework –"

The word had the effect of a bucket of cold water being tossed in his face. _Homework._

Billy had a sudden vision of two sheets of paper, both of them filled with long divisions printed in black ink. The last time he'd seen them was when he'd put them onto the desk in his room, next to his RC Batmobile, right before he'd decided that he was too tired to do his homework and that he'd do it in the morning. He'd just have to set his alarm to an hour earlier than usual.

Oops.

* * *

The thing was, there was really nothing he could tell his teacher. If he told Mr Winters that he'd been too tired to do the homework, he'd just ask _why_ Billy'd been too tired. Then Billy would have to say that by the time he came home, it'd been past 2 am in the morning, and _then _Mr Winters would probably ask where he'd been and what he'd been doing until 2 am on a school night.

And then… well… How exactly did you explain to your teacher that you'd gotten a call from Superman who needed help fighting a giant robot in China?

You probably just didn't.

* * *

_One day ago_

The JLA had been stretched thin as it was – an earthquake in Mexico, two big hostage situations in Europe and Harley Quinn on a rampage in Gotham - so when the SOS came from China, Superman had gone alone – he _was _Superman after all. How much trouble could a single one hundred and fifty-something feet tall robot be to _him_?

That was what Captain Marvel had thought at first, that Superman was only calling for backup to get things done a little sooner, so they could get back to more pressing business.

Still, Billy was thrilled to get the call. He'd never really had a chance to hang out alone with Superman before.

However, when Captain Marvel arrived on the scene, Superman had both his hands full and then some.

* * *

From miles away, he could see the metal giant lumbering through the countryside, crushing whatever ended up under his humongous, shiny feet. He was silver, the sinking sun reflected off his surface, making it hard to look at him directly and giving him an ominous red glow.

To be honest, the robot did look kinda cool.

"Captain Marvel!" Superman was below, floating in place, his long cape billowing dramatically, making Billy wish he had one just like it. Superman was pointing at dark angular silhouettes in the distance. Buildings, which the robot was approaching, slowly but surely.

"We have to get it away from the city! Lure it into the open, then take it apart where no civilians can get hurt! "

The wind tore at Superman's words, but Captain Marvel had already come to the same conclusion. And he had a plan.

"Got it!" he shouted back at Superman, and with that he zipped past, up to the metal giant, and shouted, "Hey, big guy, wanna play catch? You're it!"

"Marvel!"

Superman was right behind him, but Cap was still a little faster than the older hero. Plus, he thought he might be enjoying it more. The wind in his face, his speed that turned the landscape into a colorful smear and adrenaline cursing through him, yeah, this feeling would never get old.

The robot turned slowly, its joints making a scraping sound like ten thousand forks scratching across plates all at once, and, as planned, took up the chase.

His hand came down to swat at Captain Marvel who easily swerved out of its way. He turned to see where Superman was, and found him flying a wide loop above him, level with the robot's head.

"This is far enough," Superman called, "let's finish him."

And with that Superman shot straight towards the robot's glowing yellow eyes, drawing back his right arm to fell his target with a single super-powered punch. Cap would have loved to just stay where he was and watch the spectacle, but he too had a job to do. Maybe he was only back-up, only insurance against any unforeseeable incidents, but that didn't mean he wouldn't do his part to ensure victory. Helping out – and, who knew, perhaps even impress – the greatest hero in the world was what he'd come to do after all.

Captain Marvel launched himself at the robot's chest. This way, the big guy wouldn't know who to defend himself from first. Either he or Superman, one of them was bound to land a hit.

Except that, as soon as he got closer to massive chest plate, he heard… something. A strange humming noise, small and electric.

Like something was being charged up.

"Superman! Look out!"

Too late. Light exploded above Captain Marvel, engulfing him in white, everything gone as if he'd been sucked into a vacuum.

He was blinded, helpless.

Then something huge impacted his side and he felt himself falling, falling, spinning.

And then he was caught in someone's strong, sure arms.

Superman.

He opened his eyes. Bright spots swam in an out of his field of vision, neon colored jellyfish, but he could see Superman's face, Superman's concerned expression.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," Captain Marvel said, hoping he wasn't blushing too obviously. "Thank you, Superman!"

"What was that anyway?" he asked when Superman gently set him down on the ground.

"Laser-beams, apparently he can shoot them from his eyes. Let's hope he doesn't have any other tricks up his sleeve." They both looked up at the towering robot for a second; its head was moving, the glowing eyes scanning its surroundings, searching for them.

"Kinda looks like a Gundam, doesn't he?" Captain Marvel cocked his head in contemplation.

"A Gun-what?" Superman shot him a confused look.

"It's a—" Cartoon? Could he possibly say anything dorkier to _Superman_? "uh.. . never mind. "

Cap blinked, there was something weird about the way the robot looked; something was different.

"Hey, see that? The chest plate's coming off!" Apparently he _had_ landed a hit before the robot almost knocked him out. Phew, maybe he hadn't made himself look like a complete loser after all.

Slightly relieved and even more determined to make himself useful, Captain Marvel took to the air again, dodged the robots fists and grabbed hold of the corner of metal that had come loose and stood away from the robot's chest.

As he pulled, he heard a hiss from below, then the whole machine suddenly lost balance and began to topple sharply to the side.

Captain Marvel held on tight and pulled with all the strength of Hercules. The metal creaked in protest under his hands, but it gave; he left it no choice. Above him, Superman was distracting the robot enough to give Marvel the time to get to his hopefully soft and chewy center.

It wasn't until he'd peeled back a few feet of metal that Cap realized something was _very _wrong. The inside of the robot was lined with lead and something, _something _in therewas emitting a weak glow.

A weak _green_ glow.

He heard the groan, a sound of shock and pain.

He didn't think; he had to protect Superman; he had to destroy the Kryptonite, that was all there was to it.

With newfound strength and determination, Captain Marvel planted his feet on the robot and _pulled. _As the metal chest plate went flying, so did he. In front of him, the robot's insides lay open, a rock of kryptonite almost as big as the Captain himself, nestled into the machinery, the robot's poisonous heart.

Captain Marvel launched himself at it, dodging the robot's last attempts at fighting him off without ever taking his eyes of the Kryptonite. It hurt when he crashed into hit, both arms outstretched, both fists slamming into the hard rock, shattering it onto smaller crystals.

Below, someone, _Superman, _howled in pain, and Billy felt his breath catch in his throat. Superman was down on the ground and…

..the shards of Kryptonite had probably rained down on Superman!

What had he done?!

He flew down as fast as he could, his heart frantically hammering in his chest.

Superman lay curled up on the ground. With both arms drawn up to shield his face, he looked unnaturally small and vulnerable, and Captain Marvel found himself reaching out, but hesitating before his fingertips made contact with his idol.

"Are you—"

"Get… me out of here!" The rawness of Superman's voice almost made him flinch. He'd messed up. He'd _really_ messed up.

Captain Marvel swallowed. "I—I'm so—"

"Just get me away from here, Captain! _Now_!"

* * *

_Now_

"This is was the fourth time you were late _this week, _young man, and no homework?" Principal Pryce glared at him from behind her polished desk. "I don't know what you are thinking, Bill. Or, more importantly, what your "uncle" is thinking."

Billy bit back a wince. Out loud, she hadn't said "your so called uncle," but she didn't have to. Billy could hear it in her voice and certainly see the disdain in her steely grey eyes.

"It's not Uncle Dudley's fault; _I_ overslept, _I_ forgot about the homework. He takes great care of me, _really_!"

"Does he now?" she let the question hang in the room while her almost pitying expressing made Billy feel small and helpless. It left him painfully aware of his dirty jeans and his tousled hair, which he'd only smoothed down with some spit this morning.

Unable to bear it any longer, Billy lowered his eyes to stare at the back of the framed photo standing on the principal's desk. He knew that it was a picture of Mrs Pryce and her family, her husband, who was a pretty famous scientist – or so Uncle Dudley had told him – and her two pretty blonde daughters, all of them happy and smiling – a family.

He decided to look down at his hands instead.

"I will call him, Billy, and I will call social services, too. I have to. It's part of my job," she said. There was no apology in her voice, no regret. She was convinced that she was doing the right thing, that she was only doing what was best for him.

"I know," Billy murmured, and he did, even without the Wisdom of Solomon.

"And I think I don't need to tell you that you have detention, do I?"

"No, ma'am."


	2. Chapter 1: Late

_Fawcett City, 13:45_

Billy sat at his desk in his classroom, his math worksheets in front of him, pen in hand, and found himself completely unable to focus on anything but the passage of time.

Each time he tried to do one problem, he'd stare at the letters and numbers on the sheet of paper for a moment, then he'd lift his head, his gaze fixing on the big clock on the wall to check exactly how many seconds had passed.

Too much and yet not enough.

It was a quarter to two and he would be stuck in detention until three, which meant that there was no way he'd make it to the watchtower in time for monitor duty.

He'd be an hour late, maybe more.

Unless, well, unless he managed to sneak out.

He cast a furtive glance at Mr Jones sitting hunched over at the teacher's desk, a cup of coffee at his elbow.

Mr Jones was an elderly and notoriously grumpy teacher. Billy himself had gotten on his bad side when he'd fallen asleep during his biology lesson a few weeks ago. (To be fair, that too had been after a long night of fighting crime.)

Anyway, Mr Jones did not forgive and he didn't forget either.

Also, Billy couldn't just vanish. Pretending to need to use the bathroom and sneaking away would be pretty easy, but then what? He'd get to the watchtower in time, but Mr Jones would definitely notice he was gone, and he would _most_ definitely tell Principal Pryce, which would only lead to Billy ending up in even bigger trouble than he was in already.

No, he couldn't do it.

Back when he had been living on the streets maybe, but now?

Now Uncle Dudley would get the blame, he'd be considered unfit to raise Billy and Billy would be taken away from his uncle. Back to a foster home.

He swallowed against the lump in his throat.

No, he'd really rather get chewed out by Batman than risk losing Uncle Dudley.

* * *

_Watchtower, 14:00_

Superman scanned the control room, letting his gaze traverse over the few members of the league who manned the screens. Someone was missing.

He frowned.

"Wasn't Captain Marvel supposed to be here today?"

"He couldn't make it on time; he's taking a later shift," Batman said matter-of-fact-ly. As usual, the part of his face that wasn't obscured by the cowl was completely unreadable. "He called in."

"Trouble?"

"A private matter apparently."

Not even a hint of emotion in his voice, not that that was anything new from Batman. Still, Superman had expected _some_ reproach at least. _The mission always comes first, _surely there wasn't a single member in the whole league who hadn't gotten that lecture from Gotham's Dark Knight at one point or another. Including Superman himself.

"I take it you'll have a _word _with him later?" And he almost smirked saying it. He couldn't help it. It wasn't that he disliked Captain Marvel, he _did_ like him. It was just that – lately – the other hero seemed to rub him the wrong way a lot. His bumbling adoration, his naiveté and constant optimism… Sometimes it was like being forced to watch a recording of a younger version of himself. As if Captain Marvel was purposefully parodying him. Except that he wasn't. He really was just_ that _much of a boy scout – and so what if Superman actually missed the days when_ he_ had been the boy scout?

Batman, though, barely showed a reaction.

"It happens," he said, "he apologized."

"Since when are _you _so sympathetic?" It came out sharper than he had intended.

Batman looked him in the eye then, and even knowing that he had no x-ray vision, Superman felt like his friend was able to see right through him.

"Since when aren't you?"

* * *

_Fawcett City, 14:04_

Billy Batson let out a sigh of relief. He may not have been able to sneak away, and he might still be in trouble with the principal, but at least he'd managed to transform into the Captain and call up to the Watchtower to postpone his monitor duty.

Batman had even sounded surprisingly not-mad, just blank mixed with his usual level of general grumpiness, when he'd told him. That had definitely gone better than Billy had expected.

Somewhat cheered up, Billy climbed the stairs leading out of the basement and back to the school's first floor – he'd figured out early on that he needed a fairly secluded place to transform, otherwise the noise could alert other students or –even worse – teachers.

He'd reached the top of the stairs and was about to hurry down the hallway to get back to his classroom before anyone noticed that he had not in fact been anywhere near the boy's restroom when, suddenly a large hand grabbed his shoulder and yanked him aside.

"Care to tell me what you were doing down there, Billy?"

It was said directly into his ear, loud enough to leave it ringing. The words were accompanied by Mr Jones' sweet-smelling breath invading Billy's nose. He knew that smell back from when he used to live on the street. Many people sleeping in the subway stations Billy used to frequent had breaths like that. Alcohol.

It made Billy feel sad. He didn't like Mr Jones much – hardly anyone did (and that made him kinda sad too), but he'd heard that, many years ago, before Billy was even born, Mr Jones had lived in Gotham with his wife, and that, one night, his wife had been murdered. Some of the other kids said she'd been murdered by the Joker and that Mr Jones had gone insane because of it, but Billy didn't believe any of that. He knew Mr Jones was simply sad and bitter, and that the Joker hadn't even been around back then.

Billy looked right into Mr Jones' dark eyes, narrowed and accusing, and, although he hated doing it, he lied. "I heard something... and I thought it came from the basement, sir, I just went to look what it was."

"And what was it you heard?" Mr Jones sneered. "Never mind, I don't care. You, young man, will come with me right now, and I will personally see to it that you won't leave this building until you have solved each and every one of your math problems correctly, even if it takes all night."

* * *

_Watchtower, 15:00_

Superman drummed his fingers against the console impatiently.

"He still hasn't shown up," he said to no one in particular.

Batman, who just happened to be within earshot, turned to look at him.

"Your mood wouldn't have anything to do with _this_, would it?"

He pressed a button and the front page of one of the larger tabloids appeared on the screen in front of him.

Superman didn't even have to look at it to know what the headline read.

**Man of Steel getting rusty?!**

_Captain Marvel has to come to Superman's rescue!_

And right beneath it a photo of him – battered and only semi-conscious - being carried to safety by the bashful Captain. He didn't know when the picture had been taken or by whom, for that matter. He didn't really care. All he knew was that he could have written a better article than that in his sleep. Heck, a trained monkey could have done a better job than that "reporter".

"No, it wouldn't," he told Batman.

"If you say so."

Superman was about to reply when he was interrupted by a voice inside his head.

_Batman, Superman, can you hear me?_

One look at Batman told him that he, too, was getting the telepathic message.

_Yes, go ahead, J'onn, _he thought.

There was a pause, almost long enough to make Superman wonder if the connection had been severed, then J'onn's voice was audible again, unusually hesitant, as if he was struggling to find the right words.

_We have a situation in Fawcett City._

* * *

_Watchtower, 16:02_

After the impromptu meeting had been concluded, without Captain Marvel, who apparently was still caught up in his "private matter", Superman couldn't shake _that _feeling. The feeling of having been tainted somehow, just by hearing about the gruesome details of what the Fawcett City police had discovered. The world, too, seemed to have changed within the last hour; it had grown darker, twisted. It felt a lot less like a place worth protecting.

_No. _

Superman pushed the thought away; this wasn't who he was, and humanity as a whole was not to blame for the death of 12-year-old Gregory Gomez. The murder had been the deed of a single disturbed individual, an individual they would find and bring to justice.

Green Arrow, Black canary and Batman were already on their way to Fawcett City to start the investigation.

Superman, though, wanted to have a word with Captain Marvel.

* * *

_Watchtower, 18:33 _

Captain Marvel arrived at the Watchtower four hours later than he had planned. Well, at least he'd made it through detention, plus, spring break was only a few days away, then he'd have two whole weeks off. If the league wanted him to, he could take monitor duty every night during the holidays. Hopefully, it'd be enough to make it up to them.

Determined and optimistic, Cap rounded a corner and almost bumped right into Superman, who stood in the middle of the corridor, arms folded, as imposing as only the world's greatest hero could be.

Captain Marvel took a step back.

"You're late," Superman said. "Private matters taken care of?"

He knew he was blushing, he could feel the heat rising to his cheeks, no matter how much he tried to stop it.

"I'm sorry, sir, I really am." And no matter how much he didn't want to, he still remembered the events of the previous day. "Are you feeling—"

"I'm fine," Superman cut him off. "You don't read the paper, do you?"

"I… well," There was something withering about the way the older hero looked at him. Captain Marvel averted his eyes. "No, I don't."

"You didn't miss much today, but they'll run a story tomorrow." He paused, took a deep breath. "About something that happened in your city."

Only then, when Superman finally uncrossed his arms, did Captain Marvel notice the small square of paper in the other man's hand. Superman held it out to him. He took it automatically.

It was a photo.

A boy in a sun-bleached green T-shirt grinned at him, his dark shoulder-length hair tousled roguishly, eyes glinting with mischief.

"He was murdered, his eyes were cut out, his mutilated body dumped in the trash..."

The words seemed to come from somewhere far away, a distant star.

Superman was still talking, his voice slowly becoming a low buzz that joined the chaos of white noise building in Billy's ears.

He couldn't process what was being said to him; couldn't understand what was expected from him.

Couldn't think.

He could only stare at the picture of the dead boy.

They'd played soccer in the street together. They didn't have a ball so they'd used empty cans. They'd slept in the same run-down building.

Greg.

Greg had shown Billy where to get those cheap shirts.

Greg had shared his food with Billy sometimes.

Greg had been his friend.

Greg had been _murdered_.


	3. Chapter 2: Decision

_Watchtower, 18:33_

Superman had expected shock; he'd expected consternation, those were the appropriate responses to a crime as horrible as the one little Gregory Gomez had fallen victim to.

What he had not foreseen, however, was just how shaken Captain Marvel would be. The Captain stood in front of him in the brightly lit hallway and he seemed frozen, staring at the photo he held in slightly trembling hands.

"Captain?" Superman could hear the sternness draining from his own voice; he had not intended this, or had he?

Guilt was crawling into his bones, slowly. Had he been holding a grudge because of the incident with the robot – the stupid headline in the tabloid? Surely he wasn't that petty. No, he was only doing what he had to do, reminding the younger hero of his duty.

Marvel's face was a mirror of his every emotion; it always was, sometimes annoyingly so.

On a normal day, even after his by now numerous visits to the Watchtower, you could still occasionally see him just stand and stare out of one of the windows, face almost pressed against the glass, eyes wide with wonder.

Superman would sometimes walk into a room and find that look of awe directed at himself. Most of the time, Marvel would hurry to cover it up, but often it would be too late. Superman had seen that spark of admiration more times than he could count, and these days he found it more exasperating than endearing.

Also a little creepy, considering that Marvel himself was a grown man and a member of the League.

Now, though, what was written on Captain Marvel's face was such pure distress that Superman himself was taken aback.

"Captain," he repeated more firmly to break through the other man's daze, "are you okay?"

Finally, he was heard; Captain Marvel looked up at him, his big blue eyes shining with unshed tears. There was something else in them, too. Something strangely vulnerable –_young_, Superman found himself thinking.

"I have to go," Captain Marvel blurted, the words all but erupting from his mouth, and gone he was in an instant, his speed of Mercury rivaling Flash's.

And all Superman could do was stand in the corridor under the cold artificial lights and watch the earth, visible through a window up ahead, rotate so slowly in the darkness of space it seemed like she wasn't moving at all.

* * *

_Watchtower, 18:34_

Afraid that Superman would try to follow him and ask questions, Captain Marvel had fled into a thankfully deserted men's room, where he stood, leaning heavily on a sink to catch his breath and avoided raising his eyes to his reflection.

He still had the photo, he realized.

Of Greg, who was smiling up at him, oblivious, trapped forever on this small piece of paper, while his body was lying in the Fawcett City Morgue, cooling on a metal slab.

_Murdered._

Someone had done this to his friend.

Someone who was still out there somewhere.

Billy took a long shaky breath.

Captain Marvel knew what he had to do.

* * *

_Fawcett City, 20:00_

The moment Dudley H. Dudley had unlocked the door and entered the apartment he shared with his nephew, he could hear the droning of the television.

"You're home early, Billy," he called while taking off his shoes and looking around for his slippers. "Did you have fun today?"

Billy didn't answer, probably too caught up in whatever he was watching. Dudley sighed fondly; he'd let the kid have an hour of TV before bedtime, he decided.

He grabbed the brown paper bag of groceries he'd set down on the floor and went into the living-room.

"How about I make us some Spagh—"

_Spaghetti was_ what he had intended to say, but the rest of the word remained stuck in his throat.

"—police are not ruling out a sexual motive," the female news anchor finished in her professionally disaffected voice. In the background was a photo of a dark alley whose entrance was plastered with yellow police tape, and the line _body of twelve-year-old found_ in bold black letters underneath.

Dudley swallowed. Had Billy been any other kid, a normal, kid, he'd have told him to change the channel, and maybe had a talk with him about crime and things like that afterwards – although he would have dreaded it – but with Billy being who he was – a superhero – there was absolutely nothing he could say. Still…

He looked at the large man sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the TV, so close his nose was inches from touching its screen.

"Hey, sport, remember what we said about watching TV?"

Normally, Dudley would have gone over and ruffled Billy's hair, but with Billy's superhero form, who, when they stood next to each other, towered over him, it always felt a little strange, so he remained standing in the door way instead.

"Sorry, I…" Billy's voice was soft, absent, his eyes were full of sorrow. It was clear that the news had affected him deeply, and yet Dudley, his legal guardian, couldn't think of anything to say.

"It's okay, just sit on the couch next time." And that was really all the advice he had.

But then, Billy was the one with the wisdom of Solomon. "Are you going on patrol tonight?" Dudley asked, just to say something.

"I don't know." He sounded so lost, it made Dudley's heart ache. Maybe it was time for some actual parenting. _Billy might look like a grown man right now,_ he told himself, _but deep down he is still just a boy._

"You've got school tomorrow, Billy," Dudley reminded his nephew gently.

Billy didn't seem to really hear him.

"I went to the alley earlier," the boy said, "but the police was there and they didn't want me to disturb the scene, so I checked all the places where Greg used to hang out, but I couldn't find any clues and then I ran into Batman and Green Arrow and Batman told me to go home."

So much information that made Dudley feel like he had been tossed a handful of puzzle pieces. Greg? He thought about the end of the news report he'd heard. The murder of a child. This wasn't something he wanted his Billy to get involved in, although he knew, of course he knew, that this sort of thing was part of Captain Marvel's life. Still, he wanted to protect Billy, keep him away from harm, at least for tonight.

Maybe he could take some weight off the boy's shoulders.

_At least for now_, he thought again.

"Why don't you change back, sport, then we'll make dinner together and you can go to bed a little earlier today, hm?"

* * *

_Watchtower, 21:53_

"Did you send Captain Marvel to the alley?" Batman, who'd entered without so much as uttering – or in his case growling – a greeting folded his arms across his chest and glared in a manner that would have half of Gotham's criminal element wetting their pants right there.

But it didn't have quite that effect on law-abiding – often law-protecting – Kryptonians.

"No," Superman answered without raising his eyes from the console in front of him, pretending not to notice that his colleague was in accusation-mode "but I did talk to him."

"About the murder." It wasn't even a question, so Superman just let the statement hang in the room between them while he worked.

"What _exactly _did you tell him?" You could practically hear the dark glower. Superman, though, was not some petty criminal and he was not going to be interrogated. Still, the thought of his earlier conversation with Captain Marvel and his reaction to the news did not fail to make him feel somewhat guilty, and while that was something he might have told Bruce under different circumstances, he wouldn't let Batman bully him into telling now.

"Nothing that won't be on the news," he shrugged, "why are you asking?"

"I don't want him on this mission." That was a surprise. And after Batman had practically leapt to Marvel's defense just a few hours ago, but then again, maybe this here was just Bruce defending the Captain once again. What had Batman said back then? _We like him; he's sunny._

_You can't coddle him, Bruce, not if you want him to stay a member of the league. Not if you want him to survive._

And yet… when had _Batman_ ever been in danger of coddling anyone?

Superman had the distinct feeling that he was missing some critical piece of information.

He decided to play along. Pretend to be slow and ask the really obvious questions, on occasion that very tactic had proven quite useful in his day job.

"Why? He knows Fawcett City better than any of us."

"He's no detective," Batman countered. "There are other assignments that would suit him better."

"I still don't see why he shouldn't help you with this. We don't have any other pressing business right now, and he can be on call while he helps you out – like everyone else."

"I _don't_ want him on this mission, Clark," Batman grated out, and with that he left the room, melting into the shadows beyond the doorway.

* * *

_Next day_

_Fawcett City, 7:45_

Billy's head felt empty when he left his apartment building and stepped out onto the street. For once, he was actually early for school. His uncle had woken him up. Maybe that had something to do with the phone call they'd received the night before.

Billy had been in bed already. He'd only heard it ring twice, then Uncle Dudley had picked up.

Staring at the ceiling with a vague sense of dread, Billy had lain there, trying and not trying to eavesdrop at the same time. His uncle's voice had been too low for him to pick up more than a word or two, for which he was pretty grateful. He didn't want to know what Principal Pryce had said; he didn't want to know how much trouble he was in although the wisdom of Solomon would probably tell him that it was better to have all relevant information upfront, to be able to prepare.

Sometimes Billy was glad that he didn't have that wisdom when he was just Billy Batson.

* * *

_Watchtower, 17:25_

"Another body was found this morning, this one older. According to the mortician's report the boy was killed more than a week ago." Batman put his file down on the table and glared around the room, looking at each League member sitting at the large table in turn, but holding Captain Marvel's gaze for an especially long time.

Billy, however, felt as if an icy claw had hooked itself into his stomach. A second body. Another dead kid he hadn't been able to protect.

"Has he been identified?" Wonder Woman asked.

"Not yet. As with the other child, there was no missing person's report."

"Another homeless kid then." Black Canary sounded sad but unsurprised.

"It's very likely."

"Where are we on the first one – well, technically the second now, I guess." Green Lantern who'd been on a space mission the last few days looked expectantly at Batman, but someone else spoke up before the Dark Knight could answer.

"Gregory Gomez." Martian Manhunter said gravely. The name almost was enough to make Captain Marvel flinch.

"Flash and I spoke to his mother yesterday. She had not seen her son for weeks – in fact, she had not been aware of his absence until the police informed her of his death. Also, during the conversation I got the impression that she was under the influence of psychoactive drugs."

"The woman was high as a kite." Flash was not the type to get mad, but he sounded really angry now; his voice had an edge Captain Marvel had never heard from him before. "She couldn't keep track of her kid at all." He shook his head. "We asked around in the neighborhood, went to some of the spots he hung out in – abandoned subway stations, that sort of thing - but we got nothing."

"We know that Gregory was sexually abused before he was suffocated. His eyes were removed after he had died." The facts, spoken in Batman's usual tone, a voice that sounded like it, too, was coming from the grave, made Billy's head swim.

Flash sighed. "Which, let's be honest here, is still pretty much nothing. We've got no crime scene, no witnesses, no weapon, no DNA; we don't even know when the kids went missing because no one ever missed them."

Just a few years ago that statement would have been true for Billy too. No one would have missed Billy Batson if he had vanished, no one would have noticed. _That could have been me,_ he thought. At first he'd wanted to be involved in the investigation, to help Batman and the other League members, but now that he saw their fallen faces and realized the grimness of the situation - a serial killer, nobody had said it yet, but that was what this was – and no leads, Captain Marvel understood that a different approach was needed.

* * *

_Fawcett City, 21:00_

Billy sat on his bed in his room, his mind made up. He'd thought things through as Captain Marvel.

He'd go back to living on the streets for a while; that way he'd lure the killer out and then all he had to do was transform into Captain Marvel and bring him to justice.

He had to do it. It was the only way.

Billy curled up on top of his favorite sheets, blue ones with the Superman shield on them, and closed his eyes. The one thing he hadn't been sure about was not telling the League. Their support would make the whole thing easier, that was for sure, but if he told them about his plan, they would_ know_. They'd know he was only a kid and then they'd probably never take Captain Marvel seriously again; they might even try to stop him from carrying out his plan in the first place.

He couldn't risk it.

He had to do this alone.


	4. Chapter 3: Voices

Finally. Billy watched the first rays of sunlight stab through the torn up remnants of the grey storm clouds hanging in the sky above them. He frowned up at them from his relatively dry spot under Fawcett Bridge just outside the city.

Getting wet was what you got for skipping school to go fishing with your friend – which had been a silly idea anyway, since there were very few actual fish in the river and none of those had been especially taken with Greg's self-made fishing rod and the worms they'd collected and used as bait.

All they'd caught before the storm hit was an empty beer can.

"Let's just go back," Billy said, dodging a fat drop of rainwater coming from above. Water was dripping off the side of the bridge. Billy peered at the grey steel and concrete structure and sighed. His feet ached; it'd be three miles back into the city.

The fishing trip had sounded like a great idea when Greg suggested it the day before, kind of like a Huck Finn adventure, but in reality it turned out to be more unpleasant than even going to school would have been, not that Billy was going to tell Greg that.

"Whatever," Greg replied with a dismissive shrug.

You didn't have to be Martian Manhunter to see that he was really disappointed and irritable –the whole thing had been his idea after all, and he'd made it sound awesome when he pitched it to Billy, but now that it had been such a failure, he was getting super-defensive about it.

Greg set off without waiting for Billy, practically stomping ahead, his stupid fishing rod slung over his shoulder.

Slightly annoyed, Billy hurried to catch up to his friend, but didn't say anything, better not make this worse than it already was.

Sure, he was kinda mad at Greg, too – Greg was being such a baby about this, but, hey, Billy would just be the bigger man here and keep his thoughts to himself, no need to make a big deal out of this.

They walked next to each other for a while, both silent, Greg sulking and Billy, Billy just had no idea what to say.

He bit his lip. More than anything, the day had felt like a drawn-out goodbye.

It had only been two days since Billy had moved out of the condemned building he used to call home and in with his Uncle Dudley, and Greg was nowhere near ready to forgive him for that. Which was totally dumb and selfish, but…

Well, Billy did understand it on some level.

If it had been the other way around, he'd have been happy for Greg, true, but, well, that was part of being Captain Marvel and having all the Wisdom of Solomon. It'd have taken him only one word to turn into Cap to realize how awful it was to be bitter and envious about seeing a friend moving up in the world.

Not that he was moving up in the world, and it wasn't about that anyway, but he had found someone who cared about him, who wanted to help him and who was giving him a room and clothes and even cool stuff Billy wouldn't have dreamed to ask him for. Uncle Dudley wasn't rich; he shouldn't have been spending that much on Billy, but he said he wanted to, that Billy deserved to have nice things as much as any other kid.

And Greg was mad at him because of it; they were drifting apart.

Before, they'd needed each other, they'd been equals, and, although Billy didn't actually agree with Greg all the time – for example Greg's whole idea that it was okay to steal as long as you didn't get caught ("If they're too dumb to pay attention to their stuff, it's their own damn fault, not mine.") – they did like each other.

Things had changed though.

* * *

"Why would you wanna go live with some creepy old guy?" Greg was wrinkling his nose and looking at Billy as if he'd just declared his plan to eat nothing but insects for the rest of his life. It wasn't the kind of reaction Billy had expected, and he could feel himself get defensive.

"Uncle Dudley isn't creepy; he _really_ wants to help me." Billy folded his arms across his chest.

"You're nuts," Greg said.

They were sitting on Billy's moldy old mattress in the condemned building on Parker Avenue, the innards of a broken Nintendo DS spread out on the floor in front of them, and Greg was poking around on the green circuit board, as if he actually knew what any of the different parts were doing.

"Am not," Billy said. "Uncle D is just a nice guy."

"Yeah, right." Greg fumbled with the broken plastic casing. "Cause the world's just full of nice guys waiting to take in starving orphans."

"Who's starving?"

"Your ass would be if it wasn't for me."

Billy rolled his eyes at Greg's self-confident tone. _Yeah right._

But he let him have it. Being two years older than Billy, Greg just needed to feel superior sometimes.

It was the same with the DS, there was no way Greg knew how to fix the broken thing they'd found in the trash, but Billy still humored him. And hey, maybe they would get lucky… somehow. They didn't have any games, but just having a working Nintendo DS would be awesome; and, who knew? Maybe they'd even find a game at some point.

Or maybe later when Greg had gone home to his mom – if he went home tonight that was – well, maybe old Solomon actually had the wisdom to fix broken Nintendo consoles…

Nope, that wouldn't really be an option, Billy knew he couldn't just transform into Cap and use him for his entertainment, no matter how much he wanted that DS.

He sighed.

"What?" Greg shot him an angry look, probably expecting Billy to disagree with him and ready to start a fight. He always was short-tempered, going off at any small provocation, which routinely got him into trouble with older kids and even adults.

But he did have a good heart and he had helped out Billy more than once, sharing what little he had and giving Billy advice on where to find stuff, how to stay under the radar and which places and people to avoid.

"Nothing." Billy looked away, at the scrambled mess of computer bits in front of him – he really had no idea where any of those things were supposed to go – and sighed again. Greg probably wouldn't believe it if he told him, but Billy was sad, too. He didn't want to lose his friend; it wasn't like he had many to spare. The kids at school usually picked on him for being weird, smelly and gross. All that despite the fact that Billy put a lot of effort into his personal hygiene, but unlike his classmates, he just didn't have easy access to clean water and washing machines and stuff.

Except that he did now, of course.

And now he might be able to get a brand new DS for his birthday, just by telling Uncle D how much he wanted it, and that wasn't fair, was it? But maybe, instead of the DS, he could wish for something else?

"Hey," he said, "I bet if I ask my uncle, you could come and stay with us for a while. That'd be pretty awesome, right?"

Greg gave him a pissed-off look. "Are you crazy?" He put down the circuit board he'd been holding in his hands. "Why would I wanna do that?"

"I just…" _Because it would be better for you_ would be the wrong thing to say. Greg would never ever forgive him. It would be super-patronizing anyway, so Billy tried to make it sound like it would be for his own benefit, not Greg's. "We could hang out and Uncle D is really cool and well… it'd be fun!"

"I can't leave my mom, you know that!"

Billy swallowed. Mrs Gomez was… Well, she could be kinda nice, but… other times… There was a lot about her situation Billy Batson had not been able to understand, and when he'd looked at it with Captain Marvel's eyes, well. The bottom line was that she was sick and needed help that wasn't just Greg filching stuff to pawn off for cash so she could buy her "medicine".

"I know…" _She isn't good for you; she's not a _mom _anymore. _No way, Greg'd punch him in the face if he said anything like that. Billy hedged. "Maybe she could go to a hospital—"

"Like she'll go to rehab like some stupid actress, like she could actually just do that." Greg was really angry now, his eyes almost shooting sparks. "And then she'll be cured and we'll go buy a house in Hollywood!" he added. His voice was dripping with sarcasm. "Thanks, Billy, that's the hypest idea ever!"

It hadn't been _that _stupid a suggestion; Billy felt his face heat up under Greg's furious glare, but he pulled himself together, maybe if he explained calmly, Greg would actually start to listen.

"You don't have to be an actress to go to rehab, and maybe she really would—"

He didn't even get to finish his sentence; it was as if he'd stepped on a landmine. Greg practically exploded in his face.

"Man, just shut up, okay?" he shouted. "What do you know anyway? Your parents are _dead_!"

Billy flinched, the word still hurt. The truth of it still hurt.

Greg, though, continued undeterred. "And maybe they were the best parents ever and maybe you lived in an awesome house and had a shit ton of money and whatever, but, guess what? They're dead now and you don't have _shit_, and nobody gives a _fuck _about you! And that old guy? He's gonna get bored of you pretty damn soon and then he's gonna kick you to the curb, and when you come running back here then, I'm not even gonna bother with your stupid ass anymore, you got that?"

It had come out in one almost violent rush, the words quick and painful like slaps to the face. Billy didn't want to wait for what would come next; he jumped up and ran for the door, too hurt and angry to even look at Greg any longer.

On his way out, he stepped on something and felt it snap under the sole of his sneaker, but didn't even look down to see what it was. He just wanted out.

"Yeah, just fuck off, see if I care!" Greg called after him, his voice echoing in the empty, dark hallway.

* * *

Billy had left in a huff that day and now Greg was the one pouting, practically stomping ahead, his steps unnaturally loud on the wet asphalt.

Billy slunk along, feeling guilty, ashamed of his dry feet in the new sneakers his uncle had bought him.

He wanted to do something for Greg, to give him something, but he knew that if he offered anything, Greg would just get even more annoyed with him. He'd take it as Billy trying to brag with his new wealth.

It didn't use to be like that; before whoever had a few bucks extra would invite the other to a milkshake or something, no big deal.

Billy sighed. He hated this. He wanted things to be normal again; he wanted to be friends again. He hated this feeling, like there was a chasm between them.

"You know, this is your fault," Greg suddenly spoke up. He sounded sullen and really childish to Billy's ears.

"What?" As if he didn't already know where this was going.

"That it turned out like this. It's because you're such a wimp." Yup. Classic Greg. "And you really suck at fishing."

"Why are you so mean?" There was only so much abuse even Billy could take. Maybe Greg had had a bad day, maybe his mom had been in one of her bad moods, but still. Billy had a right to be angry, too. "The fishing was your stupid idea!" he said, stopping by the side of the empty road.

"It could have been fun, but you ruined it." Greg still took a few steps ahead, not even turning around to look Billy in the eye.

"Yeah, well, you didn't have to invite me!"

"I sure never will again!" That was probably true and it _hurt_.

"Fine! You know what? I only came along to do you a favor anyway!" There, he'd said it.

"I don't need your fucking favors!" Greg yelled it at the grey, shredded sky, and Billy could hear in his voice the anger and bitterness but also the sadness. Under all the fury, Greg was scared and alone – not that he'd ever admit it. But right now, Billy didn't want to think about that part. The part where Greg was a kid stuck in a horrible, unfair situation, because despite everything, _he_ was a kid too, and he was scared too and he was hurt, and he'd only wanted to help Greg and be his friend, and why wasn't that enough?

"You know what, Greg?" he said, tears burning in his eyes, but he held them in 'cause if he cried, Greg would just call him a wimp again. "You stink!"

"Yeah, I do." Greg's voice was soft now, infinitely sad. "Because you left me to rot, Billy."

And with that Greg turned to face him and Billy saw that where his eyes should have been, two black holes gaped, maggots crawling over raw, red flesh that was oozing blood.

* * *

_Fawcett City, 2:45 _

Billy screamed himself awake in his bed, blankets tightly wound around his body like a straight-jacket.

"It was just a dream," he said aloud into his otherwise completely silent bedroom. Usually that was enough to calm him down, just hearing his own voice and looking at the familiar surroundings, recognizing his belongings by their dark outlines.

Except that this time, this time, the room Uncle D had given him, that he'd greedily accepted, did nothing to put his mind at ease. Looking at it just made him sink deeper and deeper into maelstrom of guilt.

He'd left Greg alone to die – he'd abandoned his friend like it meant nothing – he'd never even told Greg about Captain Marvel because he'd been afraid Greg would just see him as an opportunity to make easy money, money that Greg had needed, money that could have saved his life.

Billy curled up on his bed, wrapping his arms around himself. He wanted to bury his face in his pillow, but he couldn't stand its clean detergent scent. Here he was, living the good life, lying in a soft bed in a room full of stuff he didn't even really need, and his friend was dead.

No more waiting. Today was the last day of school before spring break. He'd planned to go to the Watchtower after class, but… well, he was awake now, and there was no way he'd be able to go back to sleep anyway, so why not get it over with?

Billy hopped out of bed and said the wizard's name, hoping the thunder wouldn't wake Uncle Dudley, hoping whoever was on duty on the Watchtower wouldn't ask too many questions.

* * *

_Watchtower, 3:02_

When the computer announced Captain Marvel's arrival, Superman looked up from the monitor he'd been staring at for the last few hours. It had been a slow night so far, thankfully.

Originally, he'd wanted to help with the investigation, but Bruce had told him that there was nothing left for him to do. They had people down in Fawcett, watching the streets, they had people checking the shelters, asking around, and they had their police contacts helping them find out as much as possible about their side of the investigation.

Unable to sleep despite all that, Clark had volunteered for monitor duty, hoping that doing _something _would make him feel better.

He had not expected Captain Marvel to show up. If one man was supposed to be down in Fawcett City, elbow deep in the investigation, it was Fawcett City's favorite son. And yet…

He was here, walking into the monitor room, making a face as if he was suffering from a stomach ache. _As he should be_, Clark found himself thinking uncharitably.

He wasn't prone to blaming other heroes for crimes that happened in their cities, but Captain Marvel's obliviousness rubbed him the wrong way.

_If only he stopped exuding his boyish charm for one minute and actually opened his eyes to what is going on around him…_

As Marvel caught sight of him, Clark saw those big blue eyes grow that much bigger. His jaw set.

"Superman," Marvel said, clearly trying to sound friendly and not unpleasantly surprised, but, as usual, he was abysmal at faking it. Even without superhearing Clark could have picked up the tiny tremors in his voice.

"Captain Marvel," he replied, voice coldbreath-icy.

"There's something I wanted to ask you," Marvel sounded like a kid who knew he was already grounded asking his dad for permission to go to a party. It made Clark grit his teeth.

Captain Marvel was what? 25? He wasn't _that_ much younger than Superman, and he was one of the few heroes who, in terms of strength, could go toe to toe with him, so why did he have to act like that?

"Ask," he said, leaning back in his chair and looking up at Marvel's flustered face.

"It's just that—" Marvel frowned and shook his head. "What I wanted to ask is—" He paused. "Um…"

It was unbearable.

"Any day now, Captain."

Marvel took a deep breath.

"Could you take me off the duty roster for next week, Sir?"

Just when he'd thought he couldn't possibly be more annoyed with the Captain, this happened. Clark stared the younger man down mercilessly, watched him squirm.

"I could," he said finally. "But let me ask you one thing, Captain."

Marvel looked at him like a deer in headlights.

"Don't worry, I don't want to know why you need the time off. Frankly, I don't care." It wasn't entirely true; he did care about his fellow heroes, but right now, Clark didn't have it in him to be the friendly Boy Scout.

Marvel was looking at him, looking _hurt _of all things. And he had no right to be hurt when kids in his city were murdered and he had nothing better to do than ask for a _vacation._

"What I want to know is this," Superman said gravely, "do you want to be here, Captain?"

He didn't wait for a reply.

"Because if you don't, you can always leave. This isn't a prison, it's a choice," he said. "The people here want to fight for justice, and many of them lead double lives; they make sacrifices every day to be here. To help."

"But if you don't want to do this, take off that cape and live your life. It's no shame, Captain." He softened a little, seeing how stunned Marvel looked, as if it had never occurred to him that there were millions of people who weren't heroes.

Clark held his gaze, arriving at the point he was trying to make. "Because if you stay here, then this has to be your priority, this can't be second to anything else."

Marvel swallowed. He nodded. "I know that, Sir," he said, chastised.

Clark wondered if he truly did. "Good," he replied, although he didn't feel particularly good about their talk at all. "We'll speak about this in a week, then."

As he watched Marvel leave, he wondered if he had been wrong in voting for his acceptance into the League in the first place. People of magic could be… detached. And what did he really know about Marvel? Not much. Bruce had gone and checked his background and weaknesses like he always did, being Batman and notoriously distrusting.

But Clark, he trusted his gut. And his gut had told him that Marvel was one of the good guys. He still believed that. And yet…

Having been raised among people, having been raised a human, Clark liked to believe that that had made a difference for him, that, although he was Kryptonian, he was also part of the human race, not an outsider. He didn't see himself as a superior being.

His superpowers were a part of him, but not a part that separated him from the rest of humanity. Sometimes he almost felt like they brought him closer to the people around him, made him responsible for their safety.

And he could hear them, the people, all the time, even here in space, he could hear them calling for him, crying out to him.

Maybe that was the difference, Marvel didn't have super-hearing, his power came from the gods, and when had the gods ever been known for actually _listening_?

* * *

_Fawcett City, 16:26_

Billy had emptied his books out of his school backpack and was digging through his closet, all the while trying not to think about his conversation with Superman.

Or his conversation with Uncle D for that matter. He hadn't lied. That was the important part, right?

But he'd pretty much implied that he was going on a League Mission _with_ the League. Which wasn't true at all. Uncle D trusted him, and he was using that trust.

_To do good,_ he told himself.

Still, he'd promised to call every night – which had only made Uncle Dudley more suspicious, because why would Captain Marvel need to call him on the phone? Couldn't he just fly home? Billy had hedged and apologized and talked about how secret the mission was, and Uncle D had sighed and made him swear he was going to be careful.

Uncle D had hugged him then, really tightly, and Billy had realized that he was close to tears.

Better not think about it.

Finally he found what he'd been looking for, his old pair of sneakers, the ones he'd worn for more than two years, pretty much non-stop. He'd even slept in them sometimes.

They looked worse than he remembered. Holes were worn into the formerly white, now mud-brown- leather, the shoe laces didn't match, the left one having been replaced with an old piece of drawstring, and the soles were coming off under his toes. They were perfect.

He put them in a plastic bag and into the backpack with the other old clothes, he'd unearthed. They'd do. Billy zipped up his backpack and slung it over his shoulder.

Then, without another look at the things he was leaving behind, Billy Batson walked out of the door.


End file.
